The Beginning
by black-rose88
Summary: How it all began; the Christine's first encounter with her Dark Angel. This is a just a one shot fic that I thought of one day and I decided to put up on the site. Its my first fanfic, so it'd be great to get a couple of reviews! For some reason the story


Author's Note: This is my first fanfic and I suppose this idea has been played with many times on the site, but I wanted to experiment with it myself and see what happened (this, obviously!) Anyway, it'd be great to get a couple of reviews hint hint!

For some strange reason, the story loaded in poetry format the first time I put this up, even though I made sure that I'd checked it would appear in story format. So that's why I'm trying it again (a month on)

Check out Demons by Wandering Child by the way, easily the best E/C fic I've ever read………….

Discaimer: Sadly, none of the characters or places from Phantom of the Opera are mine, they all belong to ALW an Gaston Leroux.

The Beginning

'Christine, Christine!'  
The voice which called to her echoed strangely through the Opera House, lingering in corners and penetrating walls.  
A young girl paused and raised her tear stained face to the candlelight, which revealed a pale complexion broken by a flush of pink colour on her cheeks. She crouched on the floor of the modest stone chapel, shivering with cold and physical exhaustion. On her face she wore a peculiar expression. Was it fear?  
She seemed to hesitate, then whispered quietly, 'Father?' Her voice shook, yet as she spoke, her eyes widened as a thought appeared to form in her head.  
Drawing her night gown around her small frame, the little girl slowly raised  
herself to her feet, searching in the darkness for a face that she might put to the mysterious, entrancing voice.  
'Angel?' she whispered, barely audible this time. The half of her face that was illuminated by the candlelight showed bewilderment and a trace of disbelief.  
Could it be the Angel her father had promised her? Had her Angel of Music found her at last? She had pleaded countless times to her father on his death since her arrival at the Opera Populaire, often crying out loud for the protector she had been promised. But none came. For hours on end she would lie in her bed in the ballet dormitories, silent and resigned to living the life she longed to escape yet for which she knew she was destined. When sleep finally took her, she dreamed fitfully of her father, finding herself wrapped in his embrace, swaddled by his protective presence, only to find  
that he was no longer her beloved father, but a black shadow which spoke her name and turned from a protective presence to a fiercely possessive one. On such occasions, she would wake shaking, drenched in sweat and terrified.  
Nights were hell.  
Then, as she began to make friends and draw comfort from her strict but warm hearted ballet teacher, Mme Giry, the tragic little girl learned to dwell on the past less and gradually started to move on with her life.  
But she did not forget her father, or his promise.  
And now, as she dared fathom the possibility that her Angel of Music had  
found her at last, the magical voice sang to her once again, enthralling her  
with its commanding masculine power.  
'I am your Angel of Music...'  
Her Angel of Music.  
'Come to your Angel of Music...' the voice beckoned.  
'Mon Ange,' she breathed. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes; tears of joy. And she realised; there would be no pain any more. Her blessed Angel of Music  
had come to her at last! Her brown curls cascaded over her slight shoulders, framing her soft young face as she followed the beautiful voice, wide eyed,  
out of the cold stone chapel and through the shadowy corridors of the Opera  
House to her bedside, where she collapsed, physically and emotionally  
exhausted onto her bed. And there, under the soft moonlight that filtered  
through her small window, the Dark Angel sang to her softly, strange,  
haunting melodies which floated through her mind and filled her head with  
beautiful visions and entrancing illusions. And when she finally succumbed  
to sleep, the melodies remained inside her head, comforting and caressing  
her. Night enveloped her.  
In the shadows, the black silhouette watched over her sleeping figure. The  
child would sleep tonight. Yet she had much to learn, and he had much that  
he could teach her, if she would consent to be his pupil. Her voice had  
showed true promise, for there had been many times that he had heard her  
sing alone, unaware of any other presence. But he had remained hidden in the shadows, watching and listening.  
As the shape stirred, the outline of half a white mask materialised from the  
darkness, revealing half a dark face. Outside, a silver star gleamed, shimmering against the black heavens.  
An Angel in Hell.  
With a swirl of a cloak the black figure was gone, and little Christine Daae  
slept peacefully for the first time in since the death of her first beloved  
Angel.


End file.
